


Ripped Stitches

by taylor_tut



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Domestic Avengers, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, It's Soft, Protective Clint Barton, Stark Tower, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Torn Stitches, but it's not graphic, injured Tony Stark, they hang out in stark tower after battles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-23 01:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20883635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A short piece from my tumblr for the prompt "who did these stitches? they're shit." Clint patches Tony up after Tony does a poor job patching himself up.





	Ripped Stitches

Tony stumbled back in from the latest battle and flopped directly onto the couch face-down. 

Steve sat on the armchair and Natasha perched herself on the arm of it, leaving only the couch for Bruce and Clint to try to crash onto. Bruce claimed the open seat, leaving Clint the task of pushing Tony's legs out of the way. 

"Move your feet, Stark," he grumbled, bending Tony's legs at the knees and sitting before draping them over his lap. Tony groaned dramatically and the group rolled their collective eyes, then turned on the television. 

It had become a tradition: after a battle, they would all gather at a bar or restaurant, if they were feeling up to it, but more often, they went straight to Stark Tower and watched the news. Most of the time, it was a dressing-down of the Avengers as a whole, pointing out the collateral damage they'd done or the racket they'd made. Every once in a while, they interviewed grateful citizens that wanted to thank them for risking their lives, but more often, they watched together because if they had to watch it alone, they might all burn out on the whole super-hero thing. 

"I think Sophie Hunyh from Channel Six has a crush on Natasha," Clint said as said newscaster described in detail Natasha's daring rescue of a pedestrian and the five dogs that he'd been walking right in the path of a robot blast, pushing him out of the way at the very last second. 

"Agreed," Steve concurred. "She talks about her every night and is mean to the rest of us." 

"She called me an orc, once," Bruce added, "which I think is very offensive." 

Natasha snorted. "She's cute," she admitted. "I wouldn't say no to a drink or two, maybe breakfast." 

Clint looked at Tony because that sort of joke was so totally up his alley, but he hadn't moved. 

"Yo, Tones," he called, jostling his legs. He groaned again, this time more painfully, but again, didn't stir. "Wow, he is out like a damn light."

"It was a big fight," Steve said. "In fact, I think I'm going to take an icy shower and get some rest."

"If anyone needs a cold shower, I think it might be Natasha," Clint said, earning a glare from her in response. 

"I'm actually out of here, too," she added, and Bruce stood up with her. 

"Me, too," he agreed. "Thor's going to be home from Asgard in a few hours and I told him I'd vacuum the apartment before he got home."

The noise of them leaving didn't wake Tony, either, but with the room now silent and the television off, he found exhaustion catching up with him. 

"Alright, Stark, time to go to bed," he announced. Again, Tony lay motionless on the couch. He huffed an irritable sigh and shoved his legs off his lap. "Come on," he tried to rally, "let's go." 

He more or less pushed Tony into rolling over, forcing him to sit up, and when he did, his stomach sank. A dark red stain, large and fresh, had soaked into the couch cushion where he'd been lying, right about where his abdomen would have been.

"Tony, what the hell?" 

Tony forced his eyes open and looked at him dizzily. "What?" he demanded. "M'up." 

"Where is that blood coming from? Did you get hurt during the fight?"

Tony shook his head. "No," he denied. "This is... it's old. Few days."

Clint lifted his shirt gently, fighting against Tony's hands to be able to see the wound underneath. He was right: it was an old wound, but clearly, it had re-opened, probably because it had never been tended to properly. It was stitched shut, but poorly, unevenly, widely spaced and not nearly numerous enough to hold the wound closed. It was no wonder they broke open in the battle. Clearly, an actual doctor had not done these. 

"Who did these stitches? They're shit."

Tony frowned. "I did," he said defensively. "They're not that bad."

"Yeah, clearly they're working great," Clint agreed sarcastically, pointing at the blood on his shirt as evidence. Tony rubbed his eyes and sighed deeply. 

"Okay, you've made your point," he said. Clint looked at the clock: far too late for regular SHIELD medical operating hours, and a few stitches weren't enough to warrant waking doctors to demand treatment or taking Tony to the ER. 

"Alright, sit tight," he commanded. "I'm gonna redo them for you." 

If Tony argued about that, Clint didn't hear it as he left to find supplies. 


End file.
